Thursday's Child
by laconic.logophile
Summary: The revelation that Harry isn't actually a Potter sends the Boy Who Lived on a quest to find his real father in the United States - and, possibly, save the world along the way.
1. Prologue 1

Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Harry Potter.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Petunia hates the unnatural.

She hates that her childhood was spent in a camper, driving from place to place as her parents pursued the evil and the undead, hunted witches and the monsters that went bump in the night.

She hates that she didn't really _have_ a childhood, having to help her parents research and prepare for hunts.

She hates the demon who ripped open her mother's chest when she was only six, leaving Lily and her motherless, and their father a broken mess.

She hates remembering the glee on its twisted face as her mother dropped to the ground, hates remembering its cruel, back eyes.

Hates _remembering_.

But mostly, she hates that Lily doesn't remember.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The night Rose Evans died, Michael Evans made a decision. Hunting was his calling – his duty – but he wouldn't let it take anything more from him. He "retired," so to speak, scraping together all the money he could find to buy a dumpy little house on a dumpy little street called Spinner's End.

Michael is remarried by the end of the year. He still works crazy hours, and Lily and she need a mother – or so he says. Petunia is okay with it, though. Anne will never be Petunia's mother; that role will always belong to Rose. Anne is a plain, bland woman, with nothing extraordinary about her. Which is okay. Which is _better _than okay.

Because normal is good.

But as Lily grows older and memories of Rose Evans fade, and their father continues to stubbornly pretend his past as a Hunter never existed, Petunia can't help but think it's unfair that she's the only one who can't forget.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Lily first levitates stones, Petunia's instinct is to fight. Without thinking, she reaches for the Holy Water she always carries with her, searching the clearing for is causing it. This quickly gives way when she realizes it's Lily doing the levitating.

It couldn't be _her_ Lily. It just wasn't possible. When could she have made a deal with demon? _How_ could she have made a deal? Didn't she know it stood against everything their mother had fought against?

Only she didn't. Lily had grown up blessedly unaware of the Hunter world. She had no idea about demons or witches or werewolves or ghosts. She's never had to learn how to wield a gun or a knife, memorize Latin, or help paint devil's traps.

She was still innocent.

When Petunia makes her promise to never to her "tricks" again, Lily huffs and nods, promising.

Petunia know s she will, anyways.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The last straw is when Lily's letter arrives, and their father's reaction is excitement. Not fear or anger or any modicum of concern; just _excitement._

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

Petunia meets Vernon Dursley, and he's far from perfect, but he's normal. Oh, so normal. He lives a life as far from the supernatural as one can possibly get. And he can give her that life, too. The life she's been dreaming of for so long.

She doesn't have to worry anymore about ghosts or poltergeists, skin walkers or strigoi, or unnatural freaks like her sister or that Snape boy.

And if she keeps a stash of rock salt in the garage, it's only because you never know when the roads might ice. And the little symbols she embroiders into Vernon's – and later Dudley's - clothing just there to stay on the safe side. And if she always keeps a bottle of holy water in her purse, it's only a precaution.

It never hurt to be _careful_. And really, it wasn't _that_ abnormal.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

So, this is just an idea that popped into my head the other day and refused to leave me alone. Updates will be intermittent and not on any sort of a schedule, so just a heads up that it might take a day or a month, just depending on the chapter.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	2. Prologue 2

Wow. Just... Wow. I wasn't expecting this story to get such a warm reception.

Thank you, to everyone who reviewed. I'd respond to each of them individually, but for some reason ff freaks out whenever I try to... *shrugs*

Anywho...

Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>Lily never understands why Petunia is so weary of her abilities. The first time she levitates a rock, Petunia looks around frantically, as if she expects something dark and dangerous to pop out of the bushes and attack them. Which is just ridiculous.<p>

What's even worse is when she starts accusing the Snape boy of making deals with demons or something equally absurd.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Lily sometimes wonders where she fits in with the rest of her family.

Her father works a dead end job at the factory, and doesn't seem to have any aspiration of moving up in the world.

Anne, bless her soul, seems unaware that an entire world exists outside her garden walls.

And Petunia... Petunia is so focused on being perfectly normal, on doing everything expected of a "normal" girl, that she lacks any sense of individuality.

And she... Well, she can't help but think there has to be something more, something more to _live_ for than this quiet little life in Cokeworth.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

She's pleasantly surprised by her parents' reactions when her Hogwarts letter arrives.

Anne, unbelievably, seems fascinated by the prospect of an entire society hidden within their own. And as the date of her departure approaches, Anne pulls her aside and tearfully admits that she always knew Lily was meant for something special.

Her father seems weary at first, but as the idea of magic settles he takes to it with gusto, scrounging up family savings to buy Lily the best supplies possible. He insists, saying that it always pays off to be prepared.

Petunia, however, does not take it so well. She takes to glaring spitefully at everyone, and shutting herself in her room.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Late at night, when they think she's asleep and Anne is watching her evening programs, Lily hears them yelling. Petunia and her father _never_ fight. Hearing them scream at each other through the paper thin walls is painful. She knows that they're fighting about her, because the word "magic" is one of the few she can clearly pick out from the muffles arguments.

But it doesn't make sense, because the only other words she can pick out are "mother" and "hunt".

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Lily doesn't know what to think when her father reads her summer assignment over her shoulder, and matter-of-factly informs her that wendigo come from _North_ America.

She's even less sure what to think when it turns out he was correct.

Passing it off as some sort of fluke, she chooses to not think about it. Her father was just a normal Muggle. Why would he lie about that?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Graduation rolls around, and Lily has found something worth living for. Something worth _fighting_ for. Sometimes, though, she just wants to step away from it all. To forget that she's involved in an actual war. So when she meets a young mechanic – a Mr. John E. Winchester – on a mission in the United States, she's more than happy to momentarily forget about her life back in England.

After all, he doesn't seem to care that she's engaged, about to be married. But then again, she doesn't really care that he's married with a young child.

A month later Lily marries James Potter, and eight months after that she gives birth to a healthy baby boy. She doesn't tell James their son might not be his because, well, she can't be sure he _isn't_, and the revelation that she cheated is the last thing they need on their plates right now.

She'll tell him eventually, once the war settles down.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When her father dies, Lily is left with boxes of her father's things and no time to go through them. It isn't until she and James have gone into hiding that she has a spare moment, and when she opens that first box she isn't sure what she expects to find.

Certainly not dozens upon dozens of books about mythical creatures and protection sigils.

She takes a moment to wonder _why_ her father had all of these. But once she opens one of them and begins reading, she becomes more interested in learning about what these protections are, exactly.

It's when she's reading about a particularly gruesome ritual that she first sees mention of demons.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

There's a crossroads not far from Godric's Hollow. Everything she needs to summon the demon was easily owl-ordered from Diagon Alley, even if some of the shops had been less savory than others. It's easy enough to sneak out in the middle of the night while James is sleeping – somehow she doesn't think he'll approve of her resorting to asking a demon to protect their son.

When Lily stands up from burying the tin, it's to find a beautiful woman watching her, head tilted to the side in curiosity. She worries for a moment that she'll need to perform a memory charm on this Muggle.

One flash of red eyes, however, and Lily knows that _this_ is the demon.

"Who would have thought it?" the demon sneers, and something about its sickly sweet voice sends shivers up Lily's spine. "One of the famous _Evanses_ summoning a demon."

Lily is taken aback by this, and it clearly shows, because the demon bursts out laughing even before she asks "What do you mean, famous?"

"And isn't this the real kicker! You have absolutely no idea why your darling father and mother are rolling in their graves right now." The demon saunters forward until she's standing right in front of Lily. When the demon raises her hand to run a finger along her jaw-line, Lily flinches. It takes all of her willpower to not pull away. "But the dead aren't why you're here today, are they?" it murmurs. "I think you're here for something else."

Lily pushes all her questions about her parents to the back of her mind, and focuses on the reason she's come here, done this. "My son. I want you to protect my son from Voldemort."

"Protect him. Now isn't that vague."

"Don't let Voldemort kill Harry. Don't let him hurt him. Make sure that _bastard _doesn't so much as lay a finger on my child," Lily snarls.

The demon's cruel smile only grows larger. "And you know what the payment is, of course."

"My soul." Lily falters. "How... How long will I have?"

"I'll give you one year's time," the demon drawls. "If you last that long." Leaning down, she presses her lips firmly against Lily's. "I'll be seeing you soon, m'dear."

* * *

><p>And there you go. Slightly different from last time, because I needed dialogue to properly tell Lily's side of the story, but I'm not sure I like how it sounds in the end. I'm dropping the present tense after this, anyways, so nothing to angst over.<p>

But let me know what you think! My motivation to write is usually pretty terrible, but reviews really get my muse going.

Until next time.


	3. Beginnings

Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>Harry likes the designs painted on the walls and ceiling of his cupboard. They're pretty, and there's the only thing Harry has that Dudley doesn't.<p>

He asks about them, once, wanting to know what they are. Aunt Petunia just glares at him and doesn't respond, instead muttering under her breath about evil and corrupting demons.

The Dursleys never go to church, and yet Harry gets the sense that Aunt Petunia, at least, is very religious. After all, every now and then she stares right at him and begins to recite some old prayer in Latin.

She always looks vaguely disappointed when nothing happens.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Dudley turns eleven, the Dursleys are forced to bring Harry along on their outing to the zoo. It is one of the best outings Harry has ever been on, as he's allowed to have Dudley's unwanted ice cream and is generally left to his own devices. When they reach the reptile house, Harry is ordered to wait in front of the boa constrictor. Bored, and thinking the snake looks kind of lonely, Harry spends the next few minutes talking to the snake. It doesn't so much as blink an eye. Completely uninterested, Dudley and Pierce continue to chase each other, screaming, around the room.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Can I see it?" the redheaded boy asks, gesturing vaguely towards his forehead.

"See what?"

"Your _scar_."

"Oh, that." With a shrug of indifference, Harry pulls back his bangs to reveal a jagged, pale line over his eyebrow. Ron looks severely disappointed.

"I always expected it would look more... cool. Be bold red or something."

Harry snorts. "It's a ten year old scar. Wouldn't it be kind of silly if it still looked new?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"...And sitting next to Professor Quirrell is Professor Snape..." Percy explains, only partway through introducing all their teachers. All Harry can see of Quirrell is the back of his rather large turban, but Snape is staring right at him, a rather nasty sneer on his face. The name sounds familiar, and Harry tries to place where he recognizes it from. It couldn't be one of the veritable list of names Aunt Petunia cursed on a regular basis. After all, why would Aunt Petunia know any wizards?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sometimes, when Harry passes Quirrell in the hall, or is just sitting in Defense, he has the strangest feeling that somebody is watching him. He tries to reign in the urge to turn around and look, figuring it's just another student who's curious about the boy-who-lived.

But sometimes that feeling's there when he's wandering the halls at night, or walking out to the Quidditch pitch.

_Then_ he looks.

And there's never anything there.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Hagrid hears who they think is out to steal whatever Fluffy's guarding, he outright laughs.

"Professor Quirrell? Now I know you're having me on. There is no way Quirinus would try to steal anything. Scared of his own shadow, he is, ever since he came back. Now, don't you lot be bothering the poor man. He's got enough on his plate as it is."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Ron falls during the chess match, Harry has a scary sense of finality, that something important has happened. But there isn't time to dwell on it, only just enough to check that Ron's alive before he and Hermione continue on to the next protection.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry isn't sure what he's supposed to think when Quirrell asks if he'd thought Snape was the one out to steal the stone. Should he have suspected Snape? The man certainly hated him. But nothing about the Potions Master gives Harry the same sort of unease being around Quirrell does. That sense that something's watching him.

As Quirrell's turban is removed and he comes face to face with the Dark Lord he's supposed to have defeated, Harry finds himself distracted. That feeling's back, and it's not coming from Voldemort.

It's coming from the shadows.

Quirrell lunges forward to attack him, and Harry raises his wand, ready to meet his fate.

At the last moment an invisible force throws Harry out of Quirrell's reach, sending him flying backwards and knocking his head against the stone floor. Vision swimming, Harry watches as a redheaded woman steps out of the shadows, eyes fixed on the face protruding from the back of Quirrell's head.

"I'm afraid I can't let you touch the boy," she purrs, eyes flashing. Darkness creeping into the edge of his vision, he just hears her say, "I'll need to be keeping a closer eye on you, Harry," before everything goes black."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Professor, when I cracked my head, right before I passed out, I thought..." Harry stumbles, not sure how to proceed. "I saw a redheaded woman attack Voldemort. Was I just seeing things, or..."

"Ah, my dear boy," Dumbledore begins, patting Harry's knee. "It is just as I suspected. A mother's love is a powerful thing, and it is precisely that which saved you from Voldemort – not once, but twice now. Injured as you were, your mind probably conjured up long forgotten images of your mother's last moments. The mind can be a funny thing, like that."

Harry nods along, and carefully chooses not to mention that the woman's eyes were a vivid red, or the strangely horrified expression Voldemort had made when he'd seen her.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Ron acts strange – just a little bit off – after their adventure, but it's perfectly understandable. After all, his concussion had left him in the Hospital Wing until the leaving feast. Even then, he barely speaks a word.

When he and the twins arrive to spirit him away to the Burrow, however, he seems back to normal, so Harry doesn't think anything of it.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Ron is still more distant, less hot-headed, but Hermione acts as if this as a good thing. She praises Ron for keeping his cool and not hexing Draco into next week when he calls her a Mudblood, but Harry thinks she sounds a little disappointed that he didn't.

She is less than pleased, however, that he cares even less about homework now than before, and often times doesn't bother to do it at all, which begins to lose them house points.

Harry begins to miss the brash, loud boy he'd made friends with, but he's just so grateful to have Ron back after all those weeks in the Hospital Wing.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

On the way back from Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, Harry thinks he hears something that sounds like rushing pipes, but decides it must just be the wind. The trio arrives at the Halloween feast just as it's ending and the other students begin to leave. They sit down to get a quick bite before the food disappears, only for Filch to run in a few minutes later screaming about his cat being dead and something about a "Chamber of Secrets."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Of all the spells for Malfoy to use, Harry hadn't expected him to use one that summoned a snake. Let alone a non-threatening, bewildered looking grass snake of all things. Harry's dealt with them often enough in his aunt's garden to know they're harmless, so he ignores it and returns his attention to Malfoy.

Lockhart's attention is still on the snake, though, and when he attempts to dismiss it, the snake is sent shooting into the air. It lands back on the dueling platform near a group of Hufflepuffs who promptly kick up a fuss. The snake rears back, head whipping in their direction.

So Harry does the first thing that comes to mind and walks over to pick up the snake. It immediately wraps around his arm for warmth. Harry is only mildly surprised when, seconds later, Professor Snape banishes the snake into a cloud of ash.

It is only later, when Hermione and Ron inform him that his familiarity with the snake has the other students convinced he's the Heir of Slytherin, that he considers that might not have been the wisest choice.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Ron wasn't afraid of the spiders?" Fred and George ask in unison, sitting on either side of Harry.

Harry's head swivels between the two of them, confused. "No... should he have been?"

"Ronny-kins has always been afraid of spiders," Fred explains.

"We used to drop them on him all the time," George continues.

"Good fun, that," they say in unison.

"Maybe he got over it?"

The twins look at each other for a long moment before bursting out laughing. "Nah."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

After they reach the second floor girl's bathroom and talk to Myrtle, Lockhart in tow, Harry and Ron spend a good minute staring at the sinks. Just as Lockhart makes a break for it, Ron whips out his wand and blasts away one of the sinks with a well-placed _reducto_.

Harry can only stare at Ron in shock. "Isn't that a Fourth Year spell?" Ron just stares back and shrugs. Reaching out to grab Lockhart – who's frozen in shock – he shoves the incompetent cad down the newly-exposed tunnel.

"To cushion our fall," he replies to the unasked question, before jumping in himself.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Tom Riddle steps forward in a rage, ready to attack Harry for somehow destroying his basilisk. As he's about to reach Harry, he begins to scream in agony, appearing to burn and disintegrate from within. Clutching his injured arm, he looks around and spots Ron standing over the remains of Riddle's diary, the basilisk fang he's pulled out earlier grasped in his hand.

"You... how are you..." Harry gasps, as he begins to feel the poison burn within him.

"Found a way through the rocks," Ron responds, tossing the fang carelessly to the side.

"Lockhart..."

"A rock fell on him," Ron cuts in, bluntly. "I think he's dead."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry's sure he's mistaken, but he could swear Ron looks disappointed when Fawkes lands and begins to cry on his wound.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Ron had opted not to join them on the trip down to Hagrid's cabin, preferring instead to relax in the Common Room. Hermione and Harry have become used to this change of attitude, so take it in stride and go without him.

On the walk back, Hermione is carrying a furiously squirming Scabbers at arm's length when a black hound appears out of nowhere and jumps her, dragging her kicking and screaming towards the Whomping Willow.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

As the Weasley family bursts out of the Dursleys' fireplace, Ron stays conspicuously still, staring down at the ash at his feet with a strange expression. Underneath the ash, Harry can just make out one of those strange symbols his aunt had painted all over his cupboard. But what was it doing on the hearth?

"Come on out and greet Harry, son," Mr. Weasley urges, gesturing for his youngest son to come join the rest of the clan.

"I'm good here, thanks," Ron insists, smiling a little too calmly. Aunt Petunia has noticed the direction of his gaze, however, and her indignant furry transforms into furious triumph.

"I knew it!" she all but shrieks. "I knew no good could come of this magic nonsense. To think, you come into my home, _uninvited_, and you try to bring this hell spawn with you?"

Arthur Weasley's face turns stormy as he rounds on the Dursleys. "Hell spawn? We have been nothing but kind to you, and you _dare_ to call my son _hell spawn_?"

Aunt Petunia just sniffs indignantly and stares down her long nose at the redheaded man. "Of course I _dare_. Why shouldn't I speak the truth? It's your own fault if you can't recognize that that... _creature_ in the fireplace isn't your son."

Harry's head is whipping back and forth between the volleying adults, and he's so distracted he almost doesn't notice when Ron – or not-Ron, apparently – bursts out laughing from his spot in the fireplace.

"My, my, 'Tuny," Ron sneers, voice colder and harsher than Harry has ever heard it. "You're almost as entertaining as your dear, dead sister.

"What do you know about Lily?" Petunia hisses, as the Weasleys and Harry look on in horror.

"Why, your darling younger sister decided to make a deal. Sealed it with a kiss and everything."

"Ron... Son... What are you talking about?" Mr. Weasley finally manages to ask.

Not-Ron rolls his eyes, and Harry notices them flash red for a second before his friend pins his father with a dead stare. "Your son hasn't been 'home' for over two years now; not since he got his head smashed in during that chess match, anyway. Really, did you just not _notice_ your son acting differently, or did you figure six out of seven was a good enough job, and decide to ignore it?"

Right then, the thing wearing Ron gives a gasp of pain. Hearing a familiar string of Latin, Harry turns his attention to his Aunt, who's rattling off that prayer she used to always say around him. He can't help but notice Uncle Vernon and Dudley have long since fled the room.

"... _per caelum, caelum antiquos..._"

"This won't get rid of me," the thing snarls. "I made a deal with your sister, and how I'm just holding up my end of the bargain. I _will_ be back."

"_... glori Patri_."

Right as Aunt Petunia finishes, Ron's head is thrown back and a river of black smoke billows out of his mouth and up the chimney. Within seconds, Ron's body is dropping, lifeless, to the floor. As the Weasleys burst into a cacophony of anger and shock, And Petunia calmly turns towards Harry, wiping sweaty palms on her skirt.

"Boy, take your trunk back up to your room. You're staying here for the rest of the summer."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

On the train ride to Hogwarts, Hermione accosts Harry.

"I heard Ron is in a _comma_ at St. Mungo's after having to be _exorcised_..."

Harry nods mutely, not yet sure what direction his friend is headed with this.

"... by your _aunt_."

So _that_ was what Hermione had an issue with.

"Harry, I thought you said your aunt was entirely Muggle? How could she possibly know anything about possessions?"

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said she was raised by my grandfather to hunt demons and other supernatural phenomena as a child."

"Harry! How could you joke about something like this! This is serious! Now I'd like the _real_ explanation, if you don't mind."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

That night, Harry carefully draws a circle of salt around his bed, much to the confusion of his roommates. Dean and Seamus glance over at the empty bed that should have been Ron's, and turn to Neville as if waiting for an explanation.

The mousy boy just shrugs, equally bewildered.

* * *

><p>First of, I'd like to give a HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed, put this on their favorites and alerts, and even just read. Y'all are what keeps me writing.<p>

A few of you have asked about the title, pointing out connections to Castiel and the angels. All I'll say for now is that, yes, the angles will be showing up. Soon. Possibly before the Winchesters themselves. Also, as a fun factoid: July 31, 1980 was a Thursday.

Anywho, I lied. Another chapter of this weird present-tense thing I'm doing. And the next chapter will be the same. There's just something about it that's super convenient for info-dumping, though. And sorry for kind of leaving you hanging at a weird point. I was planning on having this chapter cover the entirety of Harry's school years, but I didn't want to take two months to get a chapter out to y'all. The next one should (hopefully) not take this long.

Ta ta for now.


	4. Discoveries

Oh my gosh, the reviews! And all the favorites and alerts! *swoons* Thank you, each and every one of you.

Now, I do have a good excuse for how long this chapter took. First I had term papers, then finals, then I moved back to Germany for the summer, then I had a summer job, then my family moved to a different city in Germany, then I had to internet... yeah. Kind of a huge mess. But! I finally finished this chapter last night, and got internet access today, so I'm posting this chapter immediately instead of fiddling with it for a week like a usually do. Because y'all are awesome and deserve a new chapter.

Yeah.

Anyway, I was going to split this into multiple chapters, because it's hella long, but decided to just give it to you all in one, sweet burst. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>It was time for the feast and the imminent announcement of the three champions, but Harry could honestly not care less. The library is entirely empty, so he can read whatever he wants without Hermione quizzing him on his changed study habits or why he's not more concerned by Ron's protracted coma.<p>

If Harry's honest with himself, he's actually thankful for the tournament. With everyone's attention on the festivities, he might have some downtime to get a grasp on this hunter business.

Maybe he'll even be lucky enough to get some answers.

He's just cracked a book on possessions when he feels something grip him. Something between his gut and his heart is being pulled, and his entire body wants to go with it. He has no idea what it could be, and that's how he knows it's something bad.

He tries to fight it; digs his heels into the floor, grips the table in front of him. But the table lurches forward and he shoots after it, scrambling across the floor as his body moves towards the library doors of its own accord.

It's a long trek to the Great Hall and Harry fights every forced step of the way, leaving his hands bloodied and body bruised. After the first candleholder gets ripped from the wall the portraits' inhabitants begin to follow him, whispering amongst themselves as they crowd into every available frame.

The doors to the Great Hall open before he has a chance to brace against them, and he comes skidding to a halt halfway to the professors' table. Panting and sweaty, he looks up to find every pair of eyes in the hall fixed on him.

"What's happening?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It's obvious from the start not competing isn't an option. Magically binding really means magically binding, and if the way Harry's magic reacted to him not presenting himself when his name was called is any indication, it's not going to sit back and let him not participate.

Thankfully, he's at least believed when he reveals he didn't enter his own name. Even Karkarof grudgingly admits that nobody seeming fame would fight their magic that strongly. But even as Crouch launches an investigation into how somebody compromised the Goblet of Fire, the fact remains that Harry has to compete.

All the same, Harry can't bring himself to care about the Triwizard Tournament. It is, essentially, a competition amongst school children. What's that compared to learning that Muggles are combating an entire world of monstrous creatures, and his family had been a part of that?

Needless to say, he's completely caught off guard when the champions are warned – for his sake – what the first task will entail.

Then, it's purely out of self preservation that Harry refocuses his research.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The first task passes without a hitch. At the last minute, he's gone out on a limb and summoned his invisibility cloak instead of his broom, remembering countless occasions tiptoeing past Miss Norris under it.

If the cloak could hide him often clumsy steps at such a close range, surely it could get him past a dragon.

It does, if just barely. And while Harry's scores are less than impressive, he's just happy to be alive.

Later that night, as the rest of his house shouts at him to close the egg, Harry's mind wanders back to a mention of wailing speech in a book he'd happened across.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry doesn't want to go to the ball, much less ask anybody to go with him. He's got enough on his plate, researching Wizards' accounts of Hunters and trying to find a way to stay submerged underwater. His own disinterest has made him oblivious to everyone else's obsession with the upcoming event, so he's caught off guard when a Hufflepuff girl he's never seen before asks him to the Yule Ball.

He's caught off guard, and says "sure" before he's realized he doesn't actually know her name.

Before he can ask it, she's already gone.

Ginny, who's been watching the interchange from a distance, goes red in the face and storms off.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Not an hour later, Harry wonders what he's gotten himself into when an ethereal blonde Ravenclaw wanders up and warns him that he's made a grave mistake, as nargles don't make good dance partners.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Fleur keeps eyeing his chest oddly, and Harry can't help put cross his arms protectively over his bare chest. Just because the older girl's allure doesn't spur him into acts of lunacy doesn't mean he's not self conscious about a pretty girl looking at him like he's got a third eye.

The only thing she could be looking at is the protective sigil Aunt Petunia had tattooed on his chest herself that summer. He had yet to find mention of it in any Wizarding books, however, so there was no way Fleur could know what it was.

Maybe she just thought it was odd somebody so young had a tattoo.

For that matter, most the adults present were giving it odd looks as well.

Maybe he should have left his shirt on.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The seventh time Peeves tries to pelt him with water balloons and cackles on about "ickle Potterkins," Harry snaps.

It takes less than a week to find an article about a Peter Eves who'd died in a charms accident back in the 1700s. It takes less time than that to find the overgrown graveyard at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Grabbing a salt shaker at dinner, he returns in the dead of night.

The next morning, Binns surprises everybody when he recalls Harry's name perfectly, and refuses to let him inside the classroom. The other ghosts refuse to shed any light on the matter, but they also refuse to go anywhere near Harry.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Struggling against the ropes that bind him to Tom Riddle's headstone, Harry can't help but wonder what would have happened if Cedric had reached the goblet before him.

Maybe Voldemort wouldn't be back at all.

Maybe, but Cedric would definitely not have been left alive.

Harry isn't surprised when a hand appears and grabs Voldemort's wrist when he's inches away from caressing Harry's face.

He is surprised by whose hand it is. Edith, the girl who'd asked him to the Yule Ball, looks surprisingly at ease in a graveyard surrounded by Death Eaters. He catches a flash of red eyes before his bonds are slashed and he's shoved towards the goblet laying abandoned on the ground. He gets a final glimpse of the petite brunette hurtling Voldemort towards a mausoleum before a familiar tug at his navel sends him back to Hogwarts.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

A demon.

That had to have been a demon, and it had saved him.

"Harry, can you tell us what happened?" Dumbledore urged.

Harry could only shake his head, mind running through every permutation of "demon" and "saved."

"Harry, my dear boy, is there anything you can tell us? Where did the portkey take you?"

Not sure what to say, Harry just continues to shake his head.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

That summer isn't much of a change from the last. Harry comes home to find his room full of musty books on werewolves and ghouls, and is drug to weekly sessions at a shooting range.

When the Order arrives in the middle of the night to retrieve him, it's only by chance he doesn't shoot first and ask questions later.

Even if he doesn't know what a gun is, Moody – the real Moody – seems to approve of the sentiment.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Grimmauld Place is fantastic.

Harry doesn't think the others know what to look for, but he recognizes the sigils incorporated into decorative woodwork, the devil's traps formed out of floorboards, the protective charms scattered around various rooms. Of course, there's just as much there to summon evil as there is to ward against it, and Mrs. Weasley wastes no time putting them to work indiscriminately cleansing the house of anything she deems "dark."

While Mrs. Weasley has no qualms ordering him about, all the Weasleys except Ginny give Harry a wide berth. Hermione eventually admits that they're weary of him. After all, it was his (Muggle) Aunt who exorcised their son, leaving him in a coma.

To avoid the sidelong looks and stilted conversation, Harry takes refuge with Sirius in the library. Everything he reads reinforces what Aunt Petunia had drilled into his head, except with a touch of something more.

Spells are listed alongside non-magical means of defeating any manner of creatures.

Hex bags aren't just "evil," they're Muggles' means of "stealing" magic.

Innumerable books explain how to summon evil, not just defeat it.

When Hermione realizes what he's reading, she's horrified, hissing at him about legality and the books corrupting him.

Sirius is less than pleased as well. He, however, merely takes Harry aside and asks him to be careful, murmuring something about not wanting to lose him like he lost his brother.

Harry promises. Sirius sighs, ruffles his hair, and goes back to reading about Quidditch.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

On the ride up to the castle, Ginny introduces them to Luna Lovegood, who Harry instantly recognizes as the odd girl who'd warned him against going to the ball with Edith. Hermione looks shocked and Ginny put out when Harry admits he's already met her.

Luna just smiles serenely.

"Be careful, Harry. Nargles often look friendly, but they very rarely are. I wouldn't trust their promises if I were you."

Harry ignores Hermione as she launches into a diatribe about nargles not being real. He decides to ask her later what she means about trusting nargles.

He never does.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Shaklebolt quickly becomes Harry's favorite DADA professor. He teaches them practical things, like how to shield and cast more powerful hexes.

Harry quickly learns, however, that when Shaklebolt asks the class how to defeat a vampire, he means how to incapacitate it, not the best means of staking it.

The same went for ghouls and every other manner of creature considered a "being" by the ministry.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

News of his non passé statements in DADA spread quickly, so Harry is less than surprised when none of his professors will write him a pass to the restricted section. To add to his frustration, Hermione had taken to policing what he read and dragging him out of the library whenever he strayed into sections she considered taboo.

Desperate for a place to research Hunter issues in peace, Harry asks Dobby if he knows anyplace secluded.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The Come and Go Room is more than Harry could have asked for. Not only is he left alone, but if he asks the room for books on a particular subject, he doesn't even have to visit the library.

If he feels a faint pricking in his scar every now and then, he pays it no heed.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Once, he sees Edith walking out of the room, carrying something that shines dully in the candlelight. Before he can call out to her, ask her what she's doing possessing a Hogwarts student, she's already gone, as if she'd never been there in the first place.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry mentions a dream he has of Voldemort in passing, and the very next morning he receives a note from Dumbledore, asking him to report to Snape after dinner for special lessons.

The Occlomency lessons are hell, to say the least. Try as Harry might, he can't keep his thoughts away from demon possessions, Edith in the graveyard, the black smoke pouring out of Ron, the mysterious woman attacking Voldemort in front of the mirror.

Months into the lessons, Harry manages to shake Snape off in the midst of one of these memories, diving straight into one of his professor's instead.

He finds himself in Dumbledore's office, Snape reporting everything he's seen to the deeply troubled looking headmaster. Sighing heavily, Dumbledore tells Snape not to worry, that he's looking into it and not to trouble Harry by asking for more details, that Harry doesn't need to know the entire situation.

Harry pulls himself out at that points, and promptly leaves the dungeon classroom.

He never goes back for another lesson after that.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The Weasleys warm up to Harry gain when his visions save Mr. Weasley from an otherwise fatal snake bite.

Only slightly, however.

Ron, after all, is still in the long-term ward at St. Mungos.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Harry dreams of Sirius being attacked, he doesn't recognize where it's taking place. He tries firecalling Grimmauld Place, hoping that some Order member will answer and tell him what's going on.

Kreacher responds instead.

Harry can't quite bring himself to believe the elf's words that Sirius has gone to his death, so he goes to McGonagall next. She personally sends a patronus to ask if everything is okay.

He waits impatiently in her office, and after almost half an hour Sirius comes tumbling out of her fireplace, rushing to Harry's side to pull him into a hug and ask if everything is alright.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The next day, Dumbledore explains that Voldemort was trying to lure Harry to the Ministry of Magic. Harry asks why Voldemort wanted him at the Ministry, and Dumbledore shakes his head sadly.

"Alas, I cannot say."

Harry knows Dumbledore is keeping something from him, but shakes it off. After all, Voldemort probably just wanted to kill him.

Isn't that what the madman always wanted?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

That summer, Harry only spends a week at the Dursleys' before heading into London to stay with Sirius. The summer passes quietly, the house mostly empty of Weasleys and Order members.

It's almost Harry's birthday before he mentions his conversation with Dumbledore to Sirius.

Harry probably wouldn't have mentioned it if he'd know how Sirius was going to explode. It takes everything Harry can think of to keep Sirius from flooing to Hogwarts and challenging Dumbledore to a duel.

In the end, though, he's glad he told Sirius.

Otherwise, he never would have found out about the prophecy.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sirius almost takes Dumbledore's head off when he comes to "borrow" Harry at the end of the summer.

Dumbledore chastises Sirius for sending howlers with sensitive information during breakfast.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry's fieldtrip with Dumbledore isn't what he expected.

As much as he's found reference to Hunters in Wizard writings, he's yet to meet a Witch or Wizard who actually was a Hunter.

And for all this man if heavyset and fruffily dressed, he's obviously a hunter. The rosaries, bags of salt scattered around the house and the way he whispers "Christo" after he's been transformed back into a human leave no doubt about that.

Once Dumbledore leaves to use the restroom, Harry asks "Horace" about a sigil he's never seen before that's framed above the fireplace.

"You know about hunters?" the old man asks, and Harry nods.

When Dumbledore returns, he immediately agrees to come back and teach.

Harry figures, no matter how out of shape he is, any Hunter would make an excellent DADA professor.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry is more than horrified to learn that the Hunter will not be teaching DADA.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

After Sirius's blowup, Dumbledore knows Harry knows about the prophecy.

As if to make amends, he promises that he won't keep any more secrets from Harry, and that he'll even begin my teaching Harry about Voldemort's past.

The lessons are long, tedious and drawn out, with a handful of memories that could have been covered in a few sessions dragged out over months.

All the while, Harry can't help but wonder how any of this is supposed to help him defeat Voldemort.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry's sessions with Slughorn are much more productive.

Harry skips most Slug Club activities, but he does have weekly tea with his potions professor. They're less of discussions and more of Harry listening as the eccentric man rattled on about Hunters, Muggle and Magical, that he'd known and worked with.

Harry likes it most when Slughorn talks about his mother.

Apparently, he'd always suspected she'd come from a Hunter family. The Evans name was famous in the Hunter world, and he'd even worked with the Evanses once to dispatch a pod of malicious selkies. They'd had a little girl named Petunia, who was surprisingly good with a pistol for her age, and a newborn named Lily, who had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

He'd thought he'd recognized those eyes when she came to Hogwarts, but the Evanses were so anti any type of magic that he's put his suspicions aside as impossible.

When Harry does get a chance to talk, he tells Slughorn all about the demon who's been following him, getting him out of perilous situations, and how he thinks it might be helping him for some reason.

Slughorn's face darkens when he hears this. He confirms what Harry already suspected, that the red eyes meant this was a crossroads demon. He also insists that no demon would just "help" without an ulterior motive, and that a deal was probably at play, although whose deal and to what end it would be impossible to know without interrogating the demon in question.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry grudgingly accepts Slughorn's reasoning that somebody must have made a deal for the demon to help him.

He still wants answers, though, so he decides to confront the Edith the next time he sees her.

And yet, as hard as he looks for her, he can never seem to find her.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Nobody realizes Katie is missing until hours after curfew.

Her body is found along the path between Hogsmead and Hogwarts, frozen by the snow and long dead.

Harry is curled up in a chair in Slughorn's office when the news arrives, reading notes about crossroads demon contracts when the news arrives. Slughorn ushers him out, insisting that he needs to be with his housemates at a time like this.

Harry does return to his common room, but not before stopping by the library to pick up books on countering cursed objects.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Slughorn's Christmas party is a somber affair. Nobody feels comfortable encouraging a more festive attitude in light of the recent death.

And yet Harry enjoys himself. Luna had invited herself along as his date, and she spends the entire night sitting in a corner with a vampire who alternates sending weary looks at her, Slughorn, or an American hunter named Robinson Harry's been introduced to.

Harry and Robinson sit in their own corner, with Harry quizzing the older man on what, exactly, it means to be a Hunter. Robinson, meanwhile, keeps insisting Harry reminds him of someone, asking if Harry's sure he hasn't got relatives in the United States.

When Draco causes a scene partway through the party, Harry is so engrossed in his conversation that he doesn't even notice.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Hermione is horrified to learn Harry won't be joining her in visiting Ron at St. Mungos.

Harry hates having to point out that the Weasleys didn't invite him to visit their son.

Ginny insists that he'd be welcome, but Harry doesn't want to push his luck.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry isn't sure what to think when he and Dumbledore return from retrieving the locket to find Draco and a group of Death Eaters in wait.

Harry's been so preoccupied with his own quest for answers that it never occurred to him to find Draco's activities suspicious. Even as Draco holds his wand on Dumbledore and Snape eventually cast the killing curse, Harry's attention is fixed on the petite Hufflepuff standing unnoticed in the shadows, a malicious smirk on her face. Glancing his way, she stares straight at him through his cloak and winks. Tossing her hair, she turns and walks away.

Dumbledore's spell finally wears off and Harry can move again. He takes off after her, weaving his way through the chaos. She's always just ahead, turning to look at him as she rounds a corner or down a passage. Ignoring Snape and his group as they head towards the grounds, he follows her instead.

Finally she stops, in front of a familiar tapestry by the Come and Go Room. Stumbling to a halt across from her, he leans against a wall as he gasps for breath.

"You done yet?" she asks, voice a lazy drawl that doesn't match her childlike face.

"What's going on?" he demands, glaring down at her. "Why are you protecting me? Why don't you want me to die?"

Edith's laughter is cruel. "You think I'm helping you? I could care less if you died. The only thing that matters to me is if Tom Riddle's the one to do it. After all, that's what your dearly departed mother traded her soul for, to make sure 'the Dark Lord' never so much as touched you."

It takes Harry a long moment to process what she's saying. "My mother made a deal?"

"Yes, are you deaf? That is what I said. And am I regretting making that deal. All this effort for one soul? So not worth it, if it weren't for the entertainment value."

"You... you think my mother trading her soul is funny?" he snaps, furious.

"Chill. Seriously. Of course it was funny. The daughter of two of the most notorious hunters doesn't even know her heritage, and she makes a deal? Priceless! If only she hadn't had the good sense to be so demanding in her request. Now the only question is: do you want to make a deal?"

Harry reels back. "What?"

"Do. You. Want. To. Make. A. Deal?" She draws each word out. "It's simple stuff. One little kiss and anything could be yours. Fame. Fortune. Victory. All you have to do is ask, and I can have Tom Riddle's head delivered to you on a silver platter."

Harry wants to say yes. He hates the way Dumbledore kept things from him, but now that he's gone... Harry's not sure he'll be able to defeat Voldemort on his own.

"I think I'll pass," he grinds out.

"Pity," she purrs. "Suit yourself. You can always call me if you change your mind."

He blinks, and she's gone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

As the funeral winds to a close, Luna wanders up to him.

"You made the right decision," she says, patting his arm gently.

"Are you sure?" he asks, petulantly.

She smiles and stands on her tiptoes to slip a necklace over his head. "For the nargles," she explains, before skipping towards a man who looks eerily like her.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Aunt Petunia refuses to let the Order relocate them. She spends weeks sifting through phone numbers, trying to track down a man her father used to go to for fake documentation. Eventually she finds his son.

The next day a crew of scruffy men and women arrive in a camper and help the Dursleys pack the essentials. Uncle Vernon and Dudley eye them wearily, but when Aunt Petunia insists they can be trusted, they don't say anything.

Two of the men eye Harry oddly, the way Robinson did, but they don't say anything. Not to Harry at least. They do ask Aunt Petunia about somebody named Winchester; she insists there's no relation.

They leave during the dead of night, the old camper surprisingly silent.

Harry had expected this, but it's still odd to wake up to an empty house. Wandering through the mostly untouched house, he finds a final set of gifts from his Aunt on the kitchen table: the rifle he'd done the best with during shooting practice, and a worn out journal he'd never seen before.

Flipping through it, he quickly figures out what it is: his grandfather's journal, documenting every creature he ever encountered and how he defeated it.

Closing it reverently, Harry places it with the rest of his things and waits for the Order to come and collect him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Much to Moody's dismay, Harry insists on flooing directly to Grimmauld Place.

The grizzled old Auror decides to proceed with his plan anyway, sending out teams with somebody disguised as Harry to throw the Death Eaters off the trail.

Harry gives up on arguing, grabs his bags and steps into the fireplace.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When news of Moody's death arrives, Harry can't help but feel responsible.

Maybe, if he'd put up more of a fight, all of them could have flooed straight to headquarters.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When time comes for Bill and Fleur's wedding, there's no way for Harry to avoid awkward interactions with the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley tries to act hospitable and Ginny sticks to him as closely as ever, but there's no ignoring the fact that they weren't the ones to invite him to the wedding – Fleur was.

The blonde Frenchwoman welcomes him with open arms, doing her best to make him feel welcome. She even personally casts the glamours and language charm to make him an honorary Frenchman for the occasion. He spends the next week as a blond with a thick accent, and when the rest of her family arrives he's quickly welcomed into the fold as "Cousin Jean."

Nevertheless, the night before her parents arrive, Fleur pulls Harry, taps his chest where his anti-possession sigil is tattooed, and smiles knowingly.

"Not all Hunters are bad," she begins, "and zough you are young, I know you will not be one of ze bad onez. Promize me you will not hunt down ze innocent beings ze way Hunterz in France have hunted vela, and I will not be revealing your zecret."

Harry nods dumbly. Smile widening, Fleur kisses him on both cheeks before floating off to attend to some weddingly duty or other.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The attack isn't entirely unexpected.

Before Harry has a chance to so much as pull his wand, Luna is beside him and Hermione. Grabbing each of their arms, she apparates them into Grimmauld Place's living room in front of a startled Sirius.

Only, it can't be apparition, because she's too young. And it's silent. And it feels more akin to falling in a cold pool than to being pulled through a tube. And as far as Harry knows, Luna's never been to Grimmauld place before.

Ignoring Hermione's tirade of questions, Luna turns to Harry, insists that he tell Hermione and Sirius the whole truth before she wanders into the kitchen to grab some potatoes.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It takes Harry several days to explain the whole history of the horcruxes to Hermione and Sirius. After that it's a question of finding them. The locket is easy enough to locate. Sirius recognizes it as something Mundungus tried to squirrel out of the house. He puts it in his room, the only room in the house they can be sure Kreacher won't go in to pilfer objects.

It takes longer for them to come up with a plan to acquire the next horcrux. Hermione wants them to be careful, to plan for every outcome. Sirius, who's becoming more belligerent by the day, is all for them going in guns blazing.

Hermione's suggestions that maybe Sirius should sleep in a different room, that the locket is affecting him, almost ends in a fist fight.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sometime during all of this Luna disappears again, without so much as a goodbye or indication of when she might be coming back.

Just as they're about to head to Gringott's, armed with Bellatrix's hair from an old Black family keepsake, Luna appears behind them in the kitchen, a delicate gold cup in one hand and a thrashing snake in the other.

Nagini lunges to bite Luna's arm, missing by barely an inch. Frowning, the blonde taps the snake lightly on the head and it goes limp, most likely sleeping.

"There is one last one," she announces dreamily, staring into space. "I have not discovered how to retrieve it yet. You'll need to destroy them quickly; we do not have much time."

"Wait!" Harry shouts, knowing she'll disappear again soon. "You aren't Luna, are you? Are you another demon?"

"No," not-Luna agrees, "I am not Luna, and you have never known Luna. I am Asasiel." Asasiel trailed off, tilting her head. "Luna sends her regards. I am afraid I must go now." With a slight nod of her head, Asasiel was gone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It doesn't occur to Harry until much later that Asasiel never answered the question of whether she was or wasn't a demon. She certainly didn't seem to approve of the other demon following Harry around, but that didn't mean she couldn't be one herself.

Right now Harry wasn't taking any chances, so that night he goes around the house and strengthens the wards he's painted on every window and door, ignoring Sirius and Hermione's bickering as he does so.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Hermione wants to start researching "Asasiel" immediately, but Harry insists that ways to destroy horcruxes comes first.

Whatever Dumbledore did to the ring is out of the question, as they aren't sure what, exactly, that was.

Sirius flat out rejects fiendfyre, announcing that as much as he disliked his ancestral home, he didn't want it to burn to the ground around him.

Hermione bursts their bubble on the basilisk venom plan, pointing out that the only source is under Hogwarts, and Voldemort controlled the school.

Harry suggests the sword of Gryffindor, but she puts a damper on that as well, reminding them that they have no idea where it is.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sirius finally caves on using fiendfyre. He insists that they do it in the kitchen, though, explaining that it was warded to help contain fires. They decide to start with the locket, because it's the horcrux that's been eating away at their psyche the longest.

Actually destroying it is harder than they imagined.

Before Harry can so much as attempt the spell, Sirius is latching onto the locket, insisting that they can't destroy it, because once the horcruxes are gone they won't have any use for him and will lock him up in this house to live out the last of his days alone.

Sirius has backed himself into a corner, wand drawn on Harry as his godson tries to talk him down, when someone begins pounding on the back door.

"Open up!" a familiar, sneering voice shouts. "I've got the sword!"

Hermione is lunging towards the door before Harry can even finish shouting "No!"

The door opening breaks the salt line and Hermione's feet smudge the freshly painting devils trap. Edith shoots across the room with superhuman strength and wrenches the locket from Sirius's hands, tossing it on the ground.

The locket had worked itself open at some point, and the singular eye within shrinks back in horror as a ruby encrusted sword slams into it.

A piercing wail fills the kitchen as the locket thrashes against the sword, before shivering and coming to a rest.

"Do you try to get yourself in these situations?" Edith sneers, yanking the sword free from the locket's crumpled husk. "Hurry up and bring me the rest so I can get this over with."

And Hermione does.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"There's one last one," Hermione admits, staring at Nagini's decapitated body and looking slightly sick.

"Of course there is," Edith says, running a finger along the sword's edge. "I don't suppose you've figured out how to get it out of Harry yet?"

The group is silent as her words sink in.

"Out of Harry?" Hermione squeaks.

"Oh, this is rich. You didn't know?" Seeing their blank faces, Edith laughs. "You know, Harry, my offer still stands. Make a deal with me and I can even get rid of your horcrux problem."

"Shouldn't that be part of your 'protecting me from Voldemort' deal?" he asks, snapping out of his shock.

"Oh, but that horcrux won't try to kill you; not like these ones did," she purrs, sidling up to Harry to run a finger down his cheek.

"Sorry." Harry brushes her hand away. "Not going to happen."

"But you can get rid of it?" Sirius asks, stepping between the demon and his godson. "If I made a deal, you could get rid of this horcrux, and then this will all be over?"

"Of course," she agrees, nodding pleasantly. "All it costs is your soul, and a little kiss to seal the deal. It's a pretty big request, though, so I'll be taking your soul now, if you don't mind."

"I'll do it," Sirius announces, even as Harry screams no, tries to push him out of the way, and Hermione squeaks in horrible realization.

"Deal," Edith says, eyes flashing red. She stands on her tiptoes to peck Sirius on the lips, and before Harry can blink his world erupts in pain.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Kings Cross Station doesn't look right in white, Harry decides, looking around.

Dumbledore without his usual colorful robes doesn't look right, either, and yet he fits into this crisp, clean world quite well.

"What are you doing here, my dear boy?" Dumbledore asks, clearly worried. Harry doesn't know what there is to be worried about. There's no more pain here.

"I think I'm dead," he responds, just realizing it himself. Suddenly, Dumbledore's presence makes perfect sense.

"Not yet," a familiar voice chirps.

Dumbledore's head shoots up to stare at something behind Harry. As soon as he spots whatever it is, he faints, falling to the ground in a graceless pile.

Something in the back of his mind is telling Harry to turn and look at the newcomer, but a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder calms him down, makes him feel like everything is going to be okay.

"Come along, Harry," the voice murmurs.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Suddenly, everything is blinding color and deafening sound.

Hermione is collapsed on the floor, sobbing as she cradles Sirius's head, her body splattered with blood.

Edith is sprawled on the ground, stabbed through the middle and blood pooling around her.

Asasiel is behind him, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding a bloodied, pure white blade.

And Harry is in the center of it all, Asasiel's hand the only reason he hasn't collapsed in shock. Glancing down he finds his shirt ripped open and soaked in blood, but no gaping hole where he vaguely remembers a hand shooting into this chest.

"It is over now," Asasiel informs them, calmly. "It is over."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Only it's not over yet. Not entirely.

Even with the horcruxes gone, Voldemort still needs to be taken down, and Harry doesn't feel right leaving that task to somebody else.

Asasiel claims her work there is done, but as a final act she gets word out to the other Order members that their time has come. Exactly a week later, on the last Thursday of the month, they retake Hogwarts.

Voldemort arrives soon afterwards with an army of Death Eaters, ready to crush them. Standing in the center of the courtyard, shouting for Harry to come face him, he doesn't notice Harry sitting in a tucked away window.

Taking careful aim, Harry steadies his rifle and fires.

* * *

><p>And that monster of a chapter is complete. Hope you enjoyed it! Please, review and let me know what you thought of it. Good, bad, indifferent, it's all motivates me to write more!<p>

Also, is it just me or is the "review box" kind of obnoxious?


	5. Revelations

Holy crap. So many reviews! You guys seriously rock. Like... seriously.

Anywho, this chapter took... marginally less time to post write than the last one. Then again, it's also about half as long. I was going to wait and make it longer for y'all, but I don't know how much time I'm going to have to write in the coming weeks, and decided to get it out to y'all now instead of making you wait any longer. On that note, I hope you enjoy!

Just a note, though: Starting this chapter, I HAVE switched writing style/tense. This is intentional. I know, it's kind of off that what amounted to four prologues were written in present tense and then I switch to past for the main story, but... Well, present just felt right for those chapters, and past felt right for this chapter. If you have an issue with this, please, go ahead and let me know, I just wanted to let you know it was done knowingly, and wasn't just some fluke.

Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Harry Potter

* * *

><p>Harry had been summoned to Gringotts.<p>

Being summoned to Gringotts was never a good sign; the goblins preferred to keep their interactions with humans as limited as possible, so they tended to conduct their business through mail whenever they could. If they actually summoned you, it either meant that whatever needed to be discussed might compromise their security, or that something had gone terribly wrong and the goblins were gleefully looking forward to informing you in person and reveling in your anguish.

As Harry followed Gnarlclaw into the inner recesses of the bank, which was apparently where the administrative offices were housed, he couldn't help but muse that the goblins would take particular pleasure in ruining his day. When it was revealed after the defeat of Voldemort that Harry possessed the Sword of Gryffindor, the goblins had been enraged; apparently, they hadn't even realized the sword had left the bank. Refusing to accept Harry's explanation that that he hadn't been the one to steal the sword, they had all but brought the Wizarding World to a standstill with their threats to close the bank permanently, taking all of the gold and heirlooms they guarded with them.

The return of the sword had only marginally appeased them. It had already been ten years, and the goblins were still making noise about demanding retribution.

Taking a seat in a hard, straight-backed chair Gnarlclaw gestured to, Harry watched the particularly ugly goblin exited through a side door.

Harry assumed the room he'd been left in was some sort of waiting room. He assumed this because the room looked remarkably like a Muggle dentist's waiting room. The walls were a drab shade of beige, the carpet was beige, and the furniture was a dingy shade of brown that only barely passed the mark of not being beige. The furniture was also goblin sized, which made the already hard and straight-backed chair just that much more uncomfortable. The dullness was jarring, particularly compared to the Neoclassical architecture of the rest of the building.

Twiddling his thumbs, Harry looked around the room for something to amuse himself with. There was a squat coffee table covered in well-worn magazines, but Harry quickly dismissed it. The magazines were trash reading of the Witch Weekly and Mystic Inquirer variety, and all at least three years old. Resigning himself to a long, boring wait – as, in his limited experience, goblins loved to make humans wait – Harry was jolted to attention when a door slammed open. A goblin Harry vaguely recognized from the newspapers at Azog, Head Goblin of Gringotts, strode purposefully into the room, turned on a pin and glowered at him.

"Come with me," he stated in a flat, raspy voice.

Dutifully, Harry followed him into his office. It wasn't what Harry would have expected of the head of Wizarding Britain's only bank, but he honestly should have expected it given the style of the waiting room. The walls were the same unremarkable beige, although they were all but obscured by teetering stacks of paperwork and files that could only have been kept standing through magic. What appeared to be fluorescent lights covered the ceiling, and the back wall was completely covered in brown metal filing cabinets, each drawer equipped with a lock. The center of the room was dominated by an ornately decorated mahogany desk that was enormous and completely at odds with the ordinariness of everything else.

Azog walked behind the desk and clambered into a Muggle ergonomic desk chair. Harry hesitantly sat in the only other seat in the room – a menacing thing that reminded Harry of the chair from his trail at the Ministry.

This probably had something to do with the clinking chains hanging from it.

Thankfully the chains didn't spring to life, but, if Azog's expression was anything to go by, there was still time for that to change.

"Mr. Potter," the goblin sneered, dragging out each word. "It has come to our attention that you are not, in fact, a Potter."

Harry blinked, then blinked a few more times. "Er... Sorry?"

The goblin stared down his particularly long nose at Harry, as if he'd like nothing better than to kick him out of his bank. That, or feed him to a dragon. No doubt either was acceptable. "You heard me the first time. You are not a Potter."

Harry stared at Azog expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something along the lines of "you're actually a Potter-Black-Slytherin-Gryffindor," or any of the other equally ridiculous claims the gossip rags has been spouting ever since he'd defeated Voldemort. Only nothing came, and Harry slowly came to the realization that Azog was deadly serious.

Not a Potter. How could he not be a Potter? Had his mum... No. It just wasn't possible. Everybody had always talked about how much his parents loved each other. His mum couldn't have cheated. Besides, he looked exactly like his dad. Everybody had always said so. Maybe... maybe he was just mistaken. He had to be a Potter. Besides, why did the goblins even care if he wasn't aPotter?

As Harry began to hyperventilate, Azog's sneer turned into a creepy grin, made especially disturbing by his mouthful of pointy teeth. "Oh, were you not aware? Such a... pity you had to find out this way."

"How... How can that be true? How can you possibly know that?"

The goblin stared at him as if he were a particularly dumb bug. "Magic."

"But my dad was a Potter!"

"Your mother's husband was a Potter. If he were your father, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"So, I'm guessing this is when you reveal who the lucky 'father of the savior' is," Harry snapped. He refused to believe James Potter wasn't his father, but at the very least he could figure out what the goblins' endgame was.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you have a magical way to know I'm not actually a Potter. Don't you have some magical way to tell who my actual father is? You know... in case somebody wants to claim an inheritance they didn't necessarily know about?" he ventured.

"Why would we want to help anybody do something like that?" Azog scoffed. "Vaults that go unclaimed for 50 years escheat to the bank, after all."

Harry hated having to ask, but he wanted to make sure he had everything straight. "What does escheat mean?"

The "dumb bug" stare from earlier returned in full force. "It means they become ours."

Slowly, Harry's mind came out of its shock and began to connect the dots. "That's why you care? If I'm not a Potter, you get all my money?"

"Not all of it." Beneath the glee, Harry could detect just a hint of dejection. "The vault you have been accessing is your trust vault; we can't touch that as it was established for you, not necessarily a Potter. Only a Potter heir can claim the other vault and properties, however. That will become ours."

"What if... what if my parents had wills? If they willed the vault to me, wouldn't it be mine?"

Azog consulted a form on his desk. "Your parents did, indeed, have a will. They did not, however, explicitly will the Potter vault to you. James Potter no doubt assumed you'd be able to claim it as the Potter heir and didn't see a need to."

"And I suppose you have proof of all this?" Harry asked, "Or am I supposed to take all of this on faith?" Grinning maniacally, Azog selected two nearly identical red files and flipped them open to their cover pages. Placing them beside each other, he pushed them across the giant desk towards Harry. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Gringotts' records are self-updating, and warded against tampering by the Department of Mysteries itself," the goblin explained. "Every withdrawal and deposit is recorded, down to the last Knut. Other things are recorded as well, such as the birth of any heirs. The bank was... auditing your family's files, when a clerk noticed that no birth of an heir was recorded in James Potter's file. There was always the possibility you were adopted..." Harry snorted. Azog snarled in warning, and Harry promptly fell silent again. "You could have been adopted; Gringotts' doesn't automatically record adoptions. No adoption was listed in the file, but with the war raging at the time of your birth, that could have merely been an oversight."

"So you're saying I'm adopted, and my parents just never told you? Doesn't that make me still a Potter?"

"Yes, an adoption would have made you a Potter. But you weren't adopted. You see, when we checked your mother's file, we found the most interesting thing: the recording of an heir's birth." Gesturing at the who files, Azog fell silent.

Filled with dread, Harry picked up the two files and looked at the file on the right first. The cover sheet was simple, just a plain piece of paper with the name James Alexander Potter written neatly in the center in large letters. Underneath, emblazed in red ink, were the years 1960 and 1981. The Department of Mysteries' seal was embossed in the bottom right corner. Dragging his attention away from the seal, Harry focused on the plastic tab stuck a few pages into the file. Flipping to that page, Harry found, once again, a mostly blank sheet of paper, empty save for James Potter's name. Reaching for the second file, Harry found a similar cover page, only this time with his mother's name. As he flipped to the page with the tab, it occurred to Harry that he'd never known his mother's middle name was Anne. When Harry arrived at the tabbed page, he immediately noticed the difference. His mother's name was at the top of the page, just like James' had been, but a fine line extended down from it, leading to the name Harry James Winchester.

Winchester.

"And you're certain this couldn't have been tampered with?"

"Yes. Or would you like to question the Department of Mysteries yourself?"

"No, I really wouldn't... Wait. I thought you said there was no way of knowing who my real father is? It says his name right here: Winchester. Isn't there a way to find him using that?"

Azog sent him another long suffering look. "Knowing a last name hardly narrows it down. There are only a handful of wizards by the name of Winchester with records at any of our branches, and none of them had an heir by the name of Harry James. Which means, of course..."

"Which means my father was a Muggle."

"Most likely, yes."

Dropping the files back Azog's desk, Harry flopped back – rather unsuccessfully – in his straight-backed chair and let out a long sigh. This was just too much to handle at one time. "I don't suppose we can keep this quiet, just between myself and Gringotts? I mean, other than me not getting access to the Potter vaults, my parentage doesn't change anything does it?"

"Oh no, it doesn't," Azog agreed. His grin, if possible, looked even crueler than before. Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to like this. "However, I'm afraid we've already issued a press release."

...

The blowup had been horrendous. Everywhere Harry looked newspaper and magazine headlines seemed to be jeering at him. "How long had he known?" some demanded. "Have we been living a lie?" others asked. Had they been living a lie? The name of their "savior" had changed, that was it; he was the one whose entire life had changed overnight. Or, in the span of a half-hour meeting, to be precise.

"You need to talk to somebody about how this is affecting you!" Hermione lectured, tapping her foot as she stared at Harry, as if the force of her look alone would make him do what she wanted. "If you refuse to talk to me about this, you should at the very least see a mindhealer! Healer Jefferson is the most highly regarded healer in the field, and even though you missed the last appointment I arranged for you, she's agreed to give you another opportunity." A long silence followed. "Well? Are you even listening to me?"

Harry didn't look up from the kitchen table, where he was busy cleaning his shotguns. "I'm not going, Hermione. Besides, I am going to talk to somebody about this."

"Who?"

"Asasiel."

Hermione sputtered in indignation. "That emotionally stunted... thing possessing Luna?"

Harry's eyes rolled; they'd had this exact argument more times than he could count. "That 'thing' is an angel, and it's hardly possession if it's voluntary."

"So you don't deny it's emotionally stunted?"

"Of course Asasiel is. That's why I'm talking to her; I don't want to deal with all that 'and how does that make you feel?' rot."

"But that's what you have to do to heal," she pleaded. Noticing that Harry was still more interested in his firearms than what she was saying, the bookworm slammed her hand down on the table. "Look at me when I'm talking! Why do you even need to clean... No. Don't tell me you're going on another hunt!"

"Well, if you don't want me to tell you..."

"Harry! You know killing beings is against the law. Remember what happened after the war? You almost got sent to Azkaban for that vampire hunt! Do you want that to happen again?"

"Slughorn well help me keep this out of the papers," Harry countered nonchalantly. Putting down the saw-off he was working on, Harry looked up at Hermione, pinning her with a stare of his own. "Hermione, there's a gancanagh terrorizing Killarney. These people need my help."

Hermione was silent for a moment, and Harry could practically hear her brain whirling as she dredged up information red years ago. "A gancanagh? Harry, they can't control the affect they have on people. It's just like a veela. You wouldn't hunt down Fleur's family for making people fall in love with them, would you? Why do you have to hunt down this fairy?"

"Because, he's intentionally making teenage girls fight to the death over him in some sort of twisted version of The Bachelor."

"So, essentially, you can't face your own issues, so you're solving other people's problems instead. Is that it?"

"Hermione..."

"Let me finish, Harry!" The brunette snapped, her ever wild hair appearing to grow as her frustration grew. "I'm tired, Harry. I am so tired to watching you destroy your life. Ever since you killed Voldemort, you haven't known what to do. Defeating him was your entire purpose, and now that that's gone, you're left with a hero complex and nothing to focus it on. I understand. Really, I do. But killing hapless creatures, who have no control over what they are, is not the solution. This revelation about your parents might not have been welcomed, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. You've been so focused on being 'Harry Potter' that you've never progressed beyond that. Maybe questioning what it means to be Harry without the Potter will be good for you. Please, Harry. Talk to Healer Jefferson."

"I don't kill beings who can control what they do," Harry murmured, "Only the ones who are trying to hurt people."

Hermione's fists clenched, and she practically vibrated with fury. "Is that all you took from that Harry? You need to move on with your life. I've been lying for you for almost a decade, Harry, telling the ministry you're on vacation or working on your 'apprenticeship' with Slughorn to cover up that you're on one of these hunts. And I'm sick of it. I won't do it anymore."

Pointedly not looking at his friend, Harry stood and began packing his guns into a worn out rucksack. "I'll see you later, Hermione. I need to leave for Ireland in half an hour, and I've still got a lot to get ready." Hoisting the bag, over his shoulder, Harry headed out of the kitchen and towards the stairs and his room.

"You can't run away from this, Harry!"

"Yeah, but I can damn well try."

...

Harry and the two Irish hunters he'd been working with – Erin and Sean – were holed up in a squalid caravan, sharing a victory bottle of whisky. Harry turned to grab a second bottle, and when he turned back a willowy blonde was sitting beside him. He jolted on reflex and the other hunters went for their guns. The blonde calmly reached across the table to tap the two older men on the forehead, and they slumped over in their chairs.

"Hello, Harry," she murmured, serenely.

"Bloody hell, Asasiel; you need to stop doing that!" Harry breathed deeply, trying to force his racing heart to slow down.

"Doing what?"

"That..." He gestured in her general area. "That appearing thing!" Asasiel smiled serenely; Harry suspected she'd known exactly what he was talking about. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to talk."

Harry waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. "... About what?"

"Did you not tell Hermione that you would discuss the revelation of your true parentage with me? I'm here so that we may discuss it."

Harry groaned and collapsed back in his seat. "Not you, too! I just said that so she'd leave me alone about the shrink. Wait... how do you even know I said that?"

"I'm always listening, Harry."

"Merlin, don't you have anything better to do than spy on me? Don't you have other angel duties? Between spying on me and helping me on hunts, it's a wonder you have time for anything else; you must not be a very good angel." Asasiel smiled, but remained silent. "But if you've been listening to me, then you know there's no reason to sit around feeling sorry for myself; it's not like I'll ever be able to find my father, anyways. Do you have any idea how many 'Winchesters' there are in the world?"

"Yes," Asasiel replied, bluntly.

"Yes, right, you know everythi... Is that why you're here? You know something about my family?" Eyes wide and alight with excitement, Harry turned in his seat to face her fully. "Can you tell me something about my family?"

"I'm afraid there are orders not to tell you anything about your brothers," she deadpanned.

"The why the hell are you...Brothers?" Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. "So, you can't tell me a thing about them, eh?"

"Not a thing," Asasiel responded. "I also am not allowed to discuss any interests they might share with you."

"Shared interests? What is that supposed to... Wait. Are you trying to say my brothers are hunters?"

"I can't say."

"I see. What... What about my father? Is he a hunter?"

"I cannot say anything about what he might or might not have shown an interest in."

Harry took a moment to weigh her words. "So... he's dead. My father's dead, and I've got brothers; brothers who are hunters." Placing his head in his hands, he began to massage his temples. "Thanks for telling me, Asasiel."

"Thank me for telling you what?"

"Haha, I get it. You can't say anything." Looking up to ask her if there was anything else she couldn't tell him, he found the seat next to him empty. He heard pained groans as Erin and Sean came to across from him.

"What was that?" Erin grumbled, cradling his head even as he reached for his gun.

"Nothing we need to worry about," Harry replied with a wry grin. "Say, I was wondering: could you two help me track down some hunters?"

* * *

><p>Just a few notes of things that have come up in reviews a lot. And yes, I'm aware we aren't supposed to respond to reviews in the story; these are just things I think I should clarify to everybody.<p>

The title of this story refers to the nursery rhyme "Monday's Child," not to Harry being Castiel's child in some sense. Castiel _will_ be playing a role in this story, just... not like that. Also, Asasiel and Azazel are two entirely different beings.

On a different note: don't worry, Hermione isn't gone from Harry's life; she's just frustrated with him and showing it the only way she thinks he'll listen. And look forward to the Supernatural cast making their appearances next chapter!

Anyways, last time there seemed to be a mixed reaction over whether people liked or disliked the new review box, but I hope you'll review anyways ;) AND! My computer has stopped freaking out when I try to respond to reviews, so starting now I'll try to respond to y'all's reviews.

Until next time!


End file.
